Broken ride
December 28, 2008His car was a shield, silvery defense against everything. Fast, slow, taking a turn, it was all the same, safe, only place he could stand the others, stand himself. His music. His smell. His belongings scattered around the floor.
There was a lot he hadn’t told her. She couldn’t have known what it meant when she told him, from the passenger seat, that she didn’t love him anymore. The small explosions in his heart governed his speed when he left her standing on the curb outside her house.
WOW! Sad!
Thanks, Denise. :-)